A Bit Of That Blitzkrieg Bop
by iNyxxis
Summary: Set in 1943, right after the events of Angel Episode 13 "Why We Fight", Spike is kicked off Angel's submarine and finds himself an ocean away from Drusilla. He is determined to return to her, but isn't quite alone, siring a new vampire for the journey. Short story.
**Disclaimer:** I don't own Buffy the Vampire slayer and Angel, the characters and universe is the property of Joss Whedon, and is not my intellectual property. There is no financial gain made from this nor will any be sought. This is for entertainment purposes only.

 **AN:** _As said in the synopsis, this is directly after the events of_ Why we fight _, the thirteenth episode of Angel. It is mostly canon, with nothing that will really influence BtVS or Angel. I decided to write this story because a character in it was very, very briefly mentioned in my other post-Chosen SpikexOC story that I am writing. As characters from this might show up later in that story, I felt compelled to write it out so I would have it more than just in my imagination. It can standalone, you don't need to read my other story to understand this one. It is just for fun. I don't know how many parts there will be in this story, it likely won't reach more than 25k, and I won't be updating it as often as I do with my other story, but I hope to have it complete long before character/s in this might show up in my other story. Thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoy._

 **Part One**

Spike was pissed. He was waterlogged and completely soaked through. Lucky that his flesh hadn't been pecked off by the fishies. That wanker, Angelus. What a dick. Spike imagined himself tearing Angel's heart out not for the first time in the last eight hours. Certainly not the last. The rat bastard had thrown Spike off of the stolen Submarine. _After_ refusing to let Spike snack on anyone else. Acting all high and mighty like Angelus always did. And yet the sadistic git hadn't even killed a single damn soldier on that ship. Except the one he turned, so they could save everyone on the submarine. Complete bollocks. What did Spike care that the air had been running out. He didn't need to breathe, not did Angelus or the wanker he turned. But no, got to keep the other men alive so they could polite that useless hunk of metal. Perfect plan.

No more virgin blood parties. At least the ones that Spike wasn't hosting himself. Now he was bloody leagues away from where he had been, an ocean away from Drusilla. And he had wound up in Canada. Sodding Canada. Thought themselves a British outpost, but it was just a waste of land. And it was on this land he had dragged himself, soaked through and sizzling, just barely flinging himself out of the water and into some shade before the sun threatened to cook him to bits. Bloody Angelus. Spike knew he shouldn't have called the older Vampire a dick. But maybe he thought they'd have a bonding moment or two, eat everyone left on the ship. What a bloody joke. And now he was in bloody Nova Scotia, hiding in a cave.

Stuck here until the sun set. Spike was furious. Next time, he'd just take on Angelus. He could take him on, couldn't he? Spike threw off his damp, useless Nazi uniformed coat. Except he never had before, and so between the choices of getting his arse handed to him by Angelus and _then_ having to swim to shore, he'd taken the lesser of two bloody awful choices and took a dive. And he had fumed with every single stroke. Now he was hungry and huddled in the muddy soil. He had gone for the first piece of rock, and if Spike's orientation hadn't failed him he was in Nova Scotia. Nova Scotia. He groaned aloud. Now he'd have to hop on another boat just to get back to Europe, find Dru.

That would take bloody ages. Til then, she was on her own, ambiguous, undeniably barmy Drusilla. His pale, dark princess with her strange coos and speaking to the stars. His forever love. He knew he'd find her again, they always did eventually. But in the meantime, he was in the middle of nowhere, hungry as all hell, instead of finding someone to nibble on with Dru. Good lord. He was hungry. The water had been cold, freezing, actually. And he might be immortal, but he was still a corpse. Water didn't treat him well at all. So he was shivering and hiding, pulling his boots close to him as the sun threatened to peek at him. Bloody lovely.

Now he had to wait for the sun to fill his belly, and fill it he would. He wasn't quite the sadistic wanker Angelus was. The older vampire's rampages were legendary. For Spike, he was all about the eating and the snapping necks. Didn't prolong it, didn't think of ways to torture. Killing was fun for Spike; to Angelus it was art. But Spike would show Angelus some damn art the next time he saw him. Cut his head off on and put it on a pike, that's what he would do. Except it would dust before that. So it wasn't the most thought out of plans, but it gave Spike something to mutter about between his shivers, eventually falling into a fitful sleep.

He woke, impatiently as the sun was beginning to disappear. He glanced at the torn jacket at his feet. Best leave it here. Wasn't worth carrying it over his head to fend off the remaining rays. Plus, anyone see that nazi symbol, they'd go all first barbarian and Spike didn't need to be shot at. He was weak enough, deprived of food and battered by that ocean. Took all his vampire strength to navigate those waters. Least he didn't need to break surface to breathe. Spike ran his fingers through his black hair. Wasn't gelled back any longer, the pieces falling in front of his forehead. He needed to dye it some other color. With Spike's appreciation of black, and Angelus' brooding disposition, their coloring was a little too close for Spike's liking. Now that Angelus fancied himself a short-haired man and dropped that ridiculous Irish accent. Spike had to do something, set himself apart from the other vampire. Who he both never wanted to see again and wanted to kill very badly. Mostly the kill very badly.

If there was any of his old pals he wanted to run into it was Drusilla. They never should have had that fight. Now he left her all alone, wreaking havoc all on her lonesome. At least she was far, far away from North America, so Angelus couldn't get his greasy hooks in her again. That thought evoked anger in his chest, as it always did. Hate. Angelus. What a git.

"Bugger." Spike swore. This damn bloody shoreline. He was on the beach, or what constituted as a beach, a rather sorry excuse for it, really, and now that the sun was gone, he got a much better look at where he was. And he was at the bottom of what was very similar to a cliff. Now he had to climb up dirt and roots and rocks to get anywhere. Didn't fancy wandering around the shore trying to find a bloody easier route. He wasn't spending another day huddling in a cave without some blood to hold his belly. And if he had to settle for anything less than human blood he was going to be more pissed than he already was. In fact, Spike didn't think he had felt anything _but_ anger since Angelus had kicked him off the boat without so much as a 'see you later'. He needed to kill something. Fast.

So, muttering to himself, he started to scale the dilapidated cliff. He was _not_ happy when he finally reached the top, his fingers grabbing at grass rather than half-packed soil, but he hadn't fallen despite a couple of close calls and foul oaths, and so he hauled himself up. He laid there for a moment. As a vampire he no longer had the need to catch his breath, but Christ. How bloody exhausting. He needed a cigarette and someone to kill and he wanted it now. God, he felt awful. He knew for sure that he was taking a boat back to Europe. None of this swimming through the waters. And at least he'd have plenty of snacks on a steamer filled with people. Just as long as he wasn't recognized by any more government bastards. He'd had enough of experimentation, thank you.

He didn't see anything. Just relatively flat ground that dipped and he couldn't see anything further than that. Just grass. And more grass. What a lifeless rock. How lucky he had been to discover upon it. He wondered briefly where Angelus' new little fledgling had turned out. Spike wondered if he had made it to land or burned up, and then decided that he really didn't care. Unless the American Soldier boy showed up, and then Spike fancied himself a fight. Not that he cared either way about the man, but he was itching to punch something. After he got some blood.

He heard a sound, a light yip. Spike's attention perked as he saw a shape break through the grass, but then there was the unmistakable dog scent that accompanied it. It wasn't the worst thing he smelled. These grasses reeked of sheep, and the ocean scents, fishy and salty bombarded him from behind. The dog, more a big ball of fur than anything, the original Lassie. The movie was coming out. Spike had wanted to see it, mostly to see how many buggers he could sample from the movie theatre audience. But he had liked that book. And now he knew why. He was going to eat Lassie.

Bit of a degradation for him. Eating animals was a disgusting alternative to humans, but he was hungry, and he didn't know how long he was going to wander before he found something much better to eat. He wasn't about to let this opportunity slip through his fingers. He'd get through it and munch on something much nicer later to rid himself of the taste. So he stared down the Lassie equivalent, who was barking at him and still running towards him. Before it got closer, it seemed to detect a change in behavior. The prey was predator. Smart dog. The collie dog stopped where it stood, starting to bark nervously. Close enough. Spike charged.

The dog held its ground for a couple seconds, then with a startled yelp, decided that standing its ground wasn't the wise thing to do, not if it wanted to live. But it came to that conclusion a little too late. Spike was too close now. The black-haired vampire threw himself at the dog, tackling it to the ground and snapping its neck with one swift gesture. "Christ, you're a hairy beastie," Spike muttered to the limp shape with distaste. All these damn hairs. If he had a hairball later, well something was going to die. Well. People were definitely going to die. But there'd be more.

Ripping enough hair so that he finally had a straight path for his fangs, his forehead bulged, and he sunk his teeth into his catch. Definitely not the best meal he'd ever had. He spat out remaining fur with distaste, and the blood was bitter and unsavory. And dog-tasting. But it filled him, helping him regain the strength that he had lost. Make it a lot easier to catch up to his next target. Which would walk on two legs and be a hell of a lot more appetizing. Help him forget this whole demeaning animal tasting thing. He stood up, wiping the blood from his lips and kicking the dog's lifeless body. "Food chain, mate," He spoke aloud to the dead body. "Bad luck."

He walked through the fields, a bit quicker this time. A baaing to his left alerted him to a herd of sheep, but screw that. He had filled up on his animal blood, time to find something more tasty. He did check, with a bit of hope, that there might be a shepherd or someone nearby that he could munch on, but he was out of luck. Soon, though, as the night grew darker, he could see a blinking in the distance. Nice of villages to upgrade the torches. The blinking lights of electricity were a bit easier to see from further away. If he still had a working heart, it would have quickened. Village meant people. Spike's teeth nicked his bottom lip, nearly salivating over the thought. It had been over a day since he had human blood. He had eaten quite a few of the soldiers, didn't even have to share them with Nostroyev and the Prince of Lies. He wasn't all into sharing anyway, except with Dru. But the other two vampires and he had found just plenty to eat. Until Angelus had showed up. He was always ruining everything. Dru and Spike were happy, oh, let's just have Angelus stroll in like he owned the place. Bloody bastard.

Angelus' face was the one he was going to see tonight whenever he killed someone.

It wasn't much of a town. He was excited when he finally stumbled upon the first house, but he doubted he'd be lucky enough to get invited in. People were a little less trusting in war, and it wasn't as if he had a trustworthy uniform on. He checked once more to make sure there was no trace of the swastika. That'd go over well. Probably even less than anyone finding out he was a vampire. It was a bit humorous, what people considered evil. Sure, Spike had definitely killed many, many people. But he didn't discriminate, not really, and he was just one man. Hear the allies talk about the Nazis, and they were dehumanized, like they were fighting demons instead of humans. Spike grinned darkly. If the Allies were fighting demons, the war would be going over a lot different. Give them a much deeper understanding of the word evil.

He found a dust covered road, marked by a few loose pebbles that seemed to be leading further into town. Or what classified as one. Hamlet might have been a better word. There wasn't much here at all. But there were humans, and that'd do him just fine. Maybe he'd just drain the whole place. One little village off the map, who'd even notice it. They'd probably blame the Nazis for that one too. He entered the town, a couple of buildings, a general store, a church—steering clear of that—and a pub. There weren't any creatures on the streets besides Spike, but he could hear cheer from inside the tavern. Plenty of people there. Sods that didn't answer the call of war, drowning their pockets in booze and drink. Spike could get behind that. Hmmm. A good bar fight might be exactly what he needed when he heard a voice. Shrill but determined, it pierced the wind.

"Dollie? Dollie. Come here, girl!" It was a girl. Just a child. She was wandering the streets—by her lonesome. Spike watched her with a critical eye. With his full black ensemble, he blended into the darkness, and wasn't worried about being seen, staying out of the view of the lampposts. If Angelus was here, he'd pounce in a second. Dru would beckon her, call her a doll, play with the dark brown curls Spike saw sticking out from beneath the child's hood. Then Dru would descend, the beauteous predator that she was, her forehead transformed in exquisite ridges, those glowing gold eyes as she purred and drank to her heart's content. Spike missed Drusilla. Be a lot funner finding someone to eat with his sire at his side, his love. Not nearly as fun being on his own. And he wasn't too particular on children himself. Barely a blood mouthful. Spike wanted more than an appetizer. He wanted a full blown meal.

"Dollie?" The girl continued calling out. Spike was beginning to wonder if she was daft. Reminded Spike of the dolls Dru kept with her, treating like they were animate objects that could answer back. But with the horrible whistling attempts, Spike figured that the crazy girl was trying to call some lost pet or something. She wasn't a very bright girl, doing so at night when the predators were out. Spike smiled. Or just the one predator.

He heard a loud, sputtering engine, as a ford car drove its way down the road, temporarily blocking Spike's view from the girl, the sound blocking his hearing as well. Damn vehicles. There was something to be said for the clopping of horse carriages, like the one at his estate back when he was a human, had he wanted to go far. But no, time was rapidly spinning on, introducing more electricity, more advanced weapons. Better ways to fight vampires, not that the humans knew of vampire as a whole. But still. Taking bullets might not kill him outright but they bloody hurt. Pain in the arse, picking lead out of his flesh.

But there were no soldiers here. No weapons, hopefully.

The car sped past, somewhat wobbly on the uneven street, heading past the tavern, which was just opening its doors to let some men stumble, drunk, out into the night, balking at the glaring light from the lampposts. Spike bared his teeth, momentarily distracted by the prey down the street when he realised that the girl was no longer alone. A woman in a blue, stained dress that fell to her knees and a long white shawl draped over her shoulders. Her face was hidden by a huge white hat that concealed her face. She was kneeling before the girl, gloved hands wrapped up in the girl. The girl had started crying, a blubbery mess, and Spike blanched in disgust. Dru cried sometimes, in her sleep, and Spike would wrap her up in his arms and brush the black hairs away from her face, murmuring sweet words to her to take the grief away, but he had considerably less patience for those other than Dru, and humans were even worse. She was sniffling about something, the little child, nearly incoherent, and Spike had good ears.

"Your parents are worried sick," the woman was saying. She was trying to tug at the girl's hand, but the child was inconsolable, not reacting to the pull. The woman moved her head just enough to glance back at the men wandering down the street. Spike could hear her heart-rate speed up. The woman pulled at the girl's hand. "You shouldn't be out so late. We need to go back. Rhetta, now."

"But I couldn't find D-Dollie. She always comes back." The child blubbered. "She didn't come to my c-calls. I thought maybe she got lost up here in town. Please, help me find her."

"She'll come back in the morning. She's a dog, Rhetta, she'll find her way home." The woman urged her, physically beginning to pull the child as the men approached. She was scared. Spike's teeth gleamed behind his smile. She had a right to be. But not from the drunkards.

"W-what if she doesn't?" The girl insisted. Spike scratched at his chin. He wondered, briefly if the dog that the girl was looking for was the one he had a snack out of earlier. He chuckled at the thought. Sorry, little girl, your dog made for a faulty appetizer. Perhaps you could do a bit better.

"Rhetta—" The woman was pulling the child, when another voice cut through the night air. It was shaky, and a bit slurred.

"Hey-y. Need some help, miss?" There were four men, two back, chuckling to themselves. The one in front had a lopsided grin on his face.

"No, thank you." The woman spoke clearly, turning her face away from them. Her hand gripped the child's, and the two of them began to made their way off the side of the road, but the men had caught up with them. Spike prepared himself. Had to make sure that woman and the child didn't scream at him before he reached up to the men. Wake the whole bloody town. He just wanted a good meal. Clearing a good path through this godforsaken pit of a town could happen after that. But then, there was a change in attitude from across the street. The chuckling and laughing had suddenly stopped, and Spike glanced up to see why. One of the more bawdy men had stumbled a little close, and the woman had stepped back to create room. In her haste, that large—rather ridiculous looking, in Spike's opinion—hat had slipped from her head.

The atmosphere changed immediately from overly friendly to hostile.

The woman was Japanese. Spike didn't care one way or another. He didn't figure the Japanese or the Nazis were the enemy. Or anyone, really. That would assume they instilled some fear into his heart, and why fear something he could just eat. There were many, many things more scarier than humans. Humans were kittens compared to vampires.

Yet, they stared at the woman with revulsion, as if she was a disgusting thing. Her black, silky hair was pulled back in a normal fashion. She was a porcelain doll, pale, even underneath the streetlight. Reminded him of Dru, a little, but the woman's eyes were black, not blue like Dru's. Her mouth was small, but full. Rather a beauty, really, staring back coldly on the men that jeered at her. Oh, right. That nonsense with Pearl Harbor. Japanese weren't so welcome here.

"Rhetta, go home." The woman spoke in her impassive voice. Rhetta wiped a tear from her face, then stared defiantly up at the men.

"Don't be mean to Katsumi," The girl warned, waggling a finger. The men laughed.

"Oh, wouldn't dream of it. Just going to have a talk with her, that's all. Don't you worry, little, Henrietta, is it? We're a friend of your father's. Just go on home, now." The girl stood her ground for a few more seconds, glancing to the Japanese woman.

She nodded. "I'll be fine. I'll be home soon." Her heart panged oddly. A lie. The child nodded uncertainly, then gathered up her little skirts and fled. The woman turned her head back to her aggressors, calm and placid as she looked upon them. Spike heard the various mutters of slang coming from the two that were more drunk.

"You're a long way from home. Scouting out the land?" One of the men asked her, looking like a rat himself, slim and pockmarked, hair shorn short.

"I'm a Canadian citizen," The woman retorted boldly, sticking up her chin.

"Nah, see, that doesn't sound right," Another men spoke, with a big beard and dry, scratchy hair that stuck right up. "See, pretty sure our government hauled all your asses over to little camps. Keep you in check. So if you were a 'citizen', you'd be doing your duty and sitting in dirt with the rest of the traitors."

They had surrounded her, directing her backwards and nearer to a fence. She took the steps to keep distance between her and the men, refusing to blink. Her luck had definitely run out today. But Spike's was just finally starting to turn. What a meal, some unknowing snacks thinking that they had the upperhand on this woman. But no, it was Spike holding the strings. They moved the woman to a more secluded point, increasing their own isolation. Spike passed his tongue over the bottom of his teeth. His forehead shifted, becoming bumpy and hard, his yellow eyes gleaming in the night.

"This was my home," The woman was saying as, unknown to them all, Spike drew nearer. "I hadn't wanted to leave. I'll go now. I'll pack my things. Give myself up first thing in the morning." She spoke clearly, as if she wasn't begging. She didn't say please and her voice didn't waver. "Grant a gal a favor?" She added, in a more captivating tone. Her flat tone, her hint of an accent, did nothing but alienate her. It made them hate her more. So she made one attempt to pretend to them that she wanted to fit in. It was too late for her. Too late for all of them.

"Little too late for that, missy." One of the men stepped towards her. The woman reacted first, whipping out a small baton from her satchel, and struck him soundly across the forearm. He swore, but his more lucid, bearded companion reacted, grabbing the woman by the throat and knocking her head against the wood. She let out a groan, a small cry of pain. Spike could smell the blood of her head wound as it hit the air, a sharp iron.

"Jap whore," He spat at her. The woman said nothing, her eyes like black coals staring back at him, dazed, but open. They were all so focused on the woman, on their desires that they didn't see the danger behind them.

"Well, don't let me interrupt," Spike declared, loudly. He was on the man closest to him before the idiot could even turn 'round. Fingers on each side of his jaw, one swift crack. Broken neck, the pudgy body falling lifelessly at Spike's ruined, sodden shoes. "Just came for the show." One of the men shouted, rushing at Spike. Spike took a punch to the jaw, and then gleefully struck back, his fist shattering the man's nose. Blood gushed out, pouring down his lips as he blubbered uselessly. Spike picked him up by the collar, hurling him at the bearded man. The weaselly pock-marked man had taken a blade from his pants and swung it in Spike's direction.

Spike laughed vivaciously, gesturing that the man should have a go. With a gurgling roar, the slim man shot forward, trying to dig his blade into Spike, but the vampire stepped easily out of the way, thumping the man on the back after another pass. The blade clattered to the dirt. "Demon…" The weaselly man muttered as he tried to pick himself up from the ground.

"You're not wrong," Spike whistled cheerfully. The bearded man rushed him, bringing both he and the vampire to the ground. Spike kneed him in the stomach, warranting a pained grunt. As the man tried to wriggle free, Spike leaned his head forward, sinking his teeth into the man's neck. The man cried out, gurgling as blood began pouring from the neck wound. The other two men had come back to their feet, hesitating as they wondered if it was worth it to help their companion. They chose to help, which only sealed their fates quicker. It didn't matter what they chose. They weren't getting away. Spike was hungry. For the fight and for blood.

He pushed off the man, who was clutching at his neck. Spike passed his tongue along his chin, tasting the blood, that iron tang. It was tinged with booze, but he didn't mind. A little flavor to it. Spike kicked at the man on the ground, hitting the fool's head hard enough against the ground that he didn't move. The other two men, who had tried to force Spike back, saw their second friend fall slack. They glanced at each other. Time to run.

"Far too late," Spike spoke out loud, the words similar enough to the ones they had spoken to the woman that their eyes bulged. They stared in horror at Spike's vamp face, the blood dripping from his mouth. Now, their little survival instincts kicked in, but like Lassie, they don't get far. The bloodied nose man received his heart out through his chest, and the last man had his throat torn out.

Spike stood over the four mangled corpses. Well, they weren't all that bad. If he was Angelus, there'd be a lot more loose limbs and torn out spines. And the ripping out heart things, a little too Angelus for Spike's liking. But he couldn't break _all_ their necks, could he? Too easy.

His attention diverted to the only beating heart out of the lot. She had slid along the fence, some blood streaking with her. She leaned against the fence, watching him approach with half-lidded black eyes. There was no horror in her expression as she saw his bumpy, demonic face, and she didn't whimper like he expected her to. She was her prize. Nicest blood out of the lot, he could guess. And he liked drinking from a woman a little better. Angelus was an only woman drinker, most of the bloody time, but Spike was a little less particular. But she was a little more appealing, a touch of red to her pale, porcelain skin. "Just taking my cut," Spike said cheerfully, as he reached her. He kneeled to the ground, leaning against the fence as she did, taking her in his arms. She didn't struggle, and as he lowered his fangs to the bare skin of her neck, tossing the shawl away, there was only a light gasp. He could feel her fingers curling and uncurling as he began to feed, latching onto her blood with ferocity. That was the stuff. Better than booze-man's blood and Spike didn't even want to think about that damn dog blood. Bloody disgusting.

"Are…they—" The woman was trying to form words. A bit curious, Spike stopped feeding, blood dripping from his lips. She was trying to talk to him, one last conversation before she became a corpse. Mostly he just wanted to hear the end of her sentence. Was she one of those Samaritans, chastising him for the deaths he had caused. Those men were no bloody saints. Not that Spike hunted for the bad ones. He didn't have to. Most of them just cropped up. But the good ones, the ones that put up a fight or didn't want to die, those were a little fun. This one was odd. She had stood up to the men more than she did to him. Perhaps that swelling on her noggin. But she accepted her fate, except for her tongue, drawn across her cracked, parched lips, so that she could fight for the chance to sleep.

"What, love?" Spike asked garishly. Didn't have to be a complete bastard to her. She was about to die. Angelus would draw it out a little bit, but Spike wasn't that cruel. Just wanted a good meal. And he was not. Angelus.

"Dead?"

He grinned through his teeth. "Quite."

She took a shivering breath, but the contempt came through strong and steady. "Good," she spoke with a callousness that surprised the vampire. _Oh, Dru would like you_. The thought jumped to his mind. Wasn't just the fact that the woman was admittedly beautiful, for a human. But it was the coldness in her tone, that deadly phlegmatic statement. Spike really had never sired anyone willy nilly. Sometimes Drusilla got the urge to make herself a new playmate, new 'children' to adore and twist like dollies. If there was more than one, Dru would sire one and ask him to turn the other. Making twins, she'd call it. But he'd never sired one on his own, never had need to. He had Dru, whyever else would he add someone else into the mix? He wanted what Drusilla wanted, and most of the time he couldn't stand the bloody fledglings anyway. Couldn't wait until Drusilla sent them on their way or they just abandoned her, wanting to go out in their own world. That was the part Spike hated, when they left her, finding Drusilla too crazy, wanting to cause mayhem on their own. Broke Dru's heart every time, but she'd never let Spike kill them, carrying on the hope that they'd return to her someday. Like Spike did. He always returned, always would. He was loyal, not a wanker like Angelus who would never deserve Dru.

He wasn't looking for a replacement. No, he had Dru, even if she wasn't here, and that was enough. Hell, nothing could keep him from returning to her. He was immortal. Lived forever. Stronger than any of these wankers who might try to change that. He didn't glance down at the limp woman in his arms and think he was going to have a new playmate while Drusilla was gone. But he knew she'd like her. Probably would have sired her already, after she had a little taste. Want to play with the pretty dollie for a bit. Spike wasn't one for games, but something about her intrigued him. He didn't need a playmate, or a lover, but he could use a partner. Something to make this barren land more interesting. He looked at the woman, her eyes half-lidded. Her breath was coming out strained. He hadn't drunken enough of her blood to kill her so quickly, so he suspected from the iron tang that she had hit her head a little too hard. She might even have died anyway, without him having a taste. Sure, he was there to help things along. If he wanted to. He strummed his fingers along her silky hair. She was definitely going to die tonight. The question was, would he let her return?

"Tell me love," He spoke the connotation with no affection, nonchalantly and easily. The fact that she wasn't screaming in his arms, not begging was one of the things that interested him. And he wanted to see if that deadly underlying tone lingered. "If you could carry on. Be stronger and faster, what would you do with this power of yours?" He licked her neck, where fresh blood still dripped, feeling her shudder lightly in his arms. Still alive then, for now. She stirred, ever so slightly, her full lips tremoring as she pulled in a shaky breath.

"Kill them," She confessed, hushed and quiet.

"Well, no need to worry 'bout that," Spike laughed harshly, gesturing grandly with his free arm. "They're all gone now."

"Not them," Her soft voice was hoarse, dry. "Not just them," She elaborated. "Everyone who…" She had a hard time with the words, taking on a drowsy contortion that was related to her barely being able to hold onto consciousness.

"Avenging little thing, aren't you?" Spike asked, amused at her seriousness. She was sincere enough. She really meant it, which entertained him. Had a bit of the darkness in her already, no doubt. Well, she was Japanese, after all, and to the pathetic humans, her race was something to be feared, something to fight back against. They really had no idea. She didn't faze him in the least. Didn't think her alien because of her pale white skin, her midnight black hair, those dark eyes. She was just human. Just as vulnerable as the rest of them. But this one, she wanted blood. How perfectly ironic. If Dru was here, she'd say Spike had found this woman for a reason. That they were meant to draw blood together, although she'd say it with a hell of a lot more obscurity. He tapped the woman's prominent cheek, not borne out of affection, but to open those eyes that threatened to close forever. They were cold, though unfocused. She hadn't begged him, not for a thing. Not to keep her alive, not to make her dead. She was watching him, the way he watched her. Gauging him, like she was the predator and not him.

He glanced her for another moment, languid with speculation. He brought his elongated fangs to his wrist, dragging the sharp edge across his skin. That was another thing. She hadn't screamed when she had seen her face. Maybe she had worse monsters in mind. Sure, it peeved him a little that he didn't scare her. She should be terrified, squirming and trembling in his grasp. But that's what Angelus wanted. The fear, the taste of it. Meanwhile, Spike just wanted the taste, wanted the blood. Some residue of a good battle. Spike wasn't into torture, that belonged in the recesses of Angelus' sick and twisted mind.

"Want to kill then, love?" Spike asked. "Want to kill them all?" What did it matter? He'd have some fun for a while, someone to keep him company until he reunited with Dru. He placed his wrist near her mouth, but not close enough, she had to reach out and take it if she wanted it. Without preamble, Spike lowered his fangs back to her throat, nestling into her bloody flesh. This time, he wouldn't stop, he'd drink it all. He drank deeply and greedily, feeling her life ebbing away. And then, there it was. Fingers, grasping his arm, pulling it closer. He twisted his wrist to help it align with her mouth. She hesitated then, and with her last strength, began to fed. It was a euphoric feeling, the blood pooling into his mouth, the saccharine, electric taste. And then there, the feeling of her feeding from him, greedily, desperately, as eager to live on—in some semblance or another—as he was.

And then she was still, the pressure on his wrist gone as his arm dropped from her mouth, the lifeless woman still, her head tipping back, eyes open, blood on her cherry lips, still. Spike wiped the blood from his mouth, his face reverting back to normal. God, that was a good meal. Finally. He rose to feet, the lifeless corpse of the woman falling into the dirt. Alright, he wasn't as gentle as Drusilla was, who'd be busy shifting her cold body into some innocuous position, hands resting on her chest like she was some angel. Spike wasn't as big on the pomp and the circumstance as Drusilla was. Easily, he hoisted the woman up, tossing her easily over a shoulder. Now to find a place to settle until the sun set, and the woman would rise again, this time a vampire, stronger and more vicious, more _interesting_ than any human could be. Another soulless creature to wander with, to relish in the violence and the blood. A companion, while he made his way back to Drusilla, however long that took.

In the meantime, there would be blood.


End file.
